UNCLE ALBERT
By Bob French
Jim Mathews grinned like a Cheshire Cat as he stepped
forward and stretched out his left hand and took the firm, but wrinkly old hand
of the Senior Scoutmaster for Essex.
“Congratulations James, it is not
very often such a young scout as yourself is awarded the advanced tracker
badge.”
Jim’s thoughts quickly drifted back
to his dad, who had been a ranger in the Serengeti National Park, and since the
moment he could walk, his dad had taught him how to track in the bush, then Jim
and his Mum’s world came crashing down as his dad was killed by poachers whilst
out in the park.
He was nearly eleven years old then
and with his Mum, had to make the transition from the warm, wide open spaces of
Africa to the cold and damp crowded streets of Basildon, in Essex
where his parents had originally come from.
That was five years ago and Jim had
thrown himself into the Scout movement and had thoroughly enjoyed it, but he
still missed the wide-open spaces of Africa,
the people and most of all, the animals.
One evening he was watching a
football match on TV when. At half time an advert came on asking people to
adopt an elephant. Jim asked his mother if he could. Her love of
the old country was as strong as his and readily agreed. So that evening,
they made a telephone call and paid their money on the understanding that they
would receive a pack in the next few weeks with the details about Baba
Mushouno, their elephant.
“What does that mean Jim?”
Jim could speak several of the local
languages and grinned at his mother. “It means Uncle Albert.”
As promised, they received regular
updates about Baba’s life; where he’d travelled to, how he had adopted a small
herd, and even how long his tusks had grown. There were always photographs
of him taken by the gamekeepers as he wandered through the park.
Then one morning Jim came down to
breakfast to find his mother in tears. In her hand, she held a crumpled
letter and when Jim managed to extract it from her fisted hand, he too burst
out in tears. Baba Mushouno was dead!
The letter did not go into detail,
only to say that he had been found dead on the edge of the National Park in
July.
Jim’s mother contacted the company
who initially set up the adoption, but all they would tell her was what the
Park Rangers had told them.
Jim, now nearly 18, and just past
his driving test, decided that if he could not get the answers about Baba
Mushouno’s death, then he would go out to Tanzania and find out for himself.
He sat down with his Mum and
together they planned it. They still had friends out in Tanzania who
would readily help Jim upon his arrival.
A month later Jim flew into Dodoma international airport in Tanzania, hired a Land Rover, and
vanished into the bush. He drove deep into the grounds of the national
park until he came to the village
of Kwin nugo, the home of
his boyhood friend Alex, now a proud Maasai warrior with two wives, four
children, and thirteen cows.
Their meeting had been a tearful one
and for days they sat and talked about the ‘old days.’
When it was time to bring up such
matters, Jim spoke of his love of an elephant he had adopted in the far-off
land where he lived. Alex listened carefully, then nodded.
“I know of such killings. Even
though it is forbidden to kill in the park, I hear rumors of the musungu, ‘the
outsiders,’ who pay large sums of money to hunt the forbidden ones.
Jim explained that Baba Mushouno had
died probably in May or June, inside the north boundary of the National Park.
“I shall have to visit a friend I
know in the Ranger Station and ask for details of the death of Baba.”
“How many day's walk will it take
you. I can drive you there if you want.”
Alex looked into Jim’s eyes. “Thank
you for offering to drive me, but you must remain invisible if you are going to
kill the Musungu responsible for Baba’s.”
Jim stared at his friend and said
nothing. Even when they were young kids, Alex always had the mystical
ability of reading a person’s mind. After a few minutes, Jim lent across
and placed his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Thank you, my brother.”
It took Alex just ten days to reach
the Ranger Station, listen to the information the Ranger had about the death of
the elephant,
Alex and Jim spent the next week
going over the details of the two hunters who had entered the Park during the
period of Uncle Albert’s death. The first, A Dane, whose only weapon was a
camera. He had been refused a permit because he had not paid sufficient
backhanders to the authorities. The other was a German; Wolfgang
Schnieder, who had been caught a few years ago crossing over into the park and
killing protected animals. The word on the wind was that he bribed someone and
was released without charge.
Then late one evening as Jim and
Alex were talking through the last of their plans a young boy came jogging into
their village and was directed to Alex’s hut.
After giving the young boy a drink
and an offer of some food, the boy told them that his friend, the Ranger, said
that the German Musungu has crossed over into the park near the village of Ngulloo.
“Was that all?”
The boy just nodded, turned, and ran
off into the dark.
Jim turned to Alex. “That’s seventy
miles away. I reckon we could be there in two hours, maybe three.
After informing his wives that he
would be going hunting for a few days, he and Jim left in the Land Rover.
They travelled across country to the
outskirts of the village
of Ngulloo. There
they sat in the shadows and watched the men who would act as porters for the
German, get very drunk. At dawn on the following morning, three Toyota jeeps with 9 local
men and a white man drove out of the village and headed north.
They knew the direction the vehicles
were travelling and both spoke at the same time; “Elephant country.”
Their plan was simple. Whittle down
the porters until only the German was left, then deal with him.
During the first night, Alex managed
to crawl forward and contaminate the water of one of the guards who had fallen
asleep with Giraffe urine; odorless, tasteless, and guaranteed to give anyone
diarrhea for a week. Whilst Jim had singled out the lead jeep and punctured its
fuel lines.
The morning brought complete chaos
to the hunting party. The German started to beat the driver for being unable to
start his jeep and kick and punch the sick man for failing to hold his
drink. He then ordered them to stay with the jeep until his return.
As the two jeeps pulled away, Alex
crept forward and tied a long piece of rope to the last jeep. At the end
of the rope was a freshly killed antelope. When Alex joined Jim, they
laughed. The smell of fresh meat would attract wild animals for miles
around. Sure enough, by midday, they watched as the two jeeps were being
chased by a pride of lions and had already driven off the route leading to the
elephants.
That night, having disposed of the
raw meat, the hunting party built a sturdy camp and posted guards around
it. Jim and Alex could observe the German getting annoyed with everyone
as the night wore on. Foolishly they left their jeeps outside their camp, so
Jim crept forward and removed the spare wheels from both jeeps, whilst Alex had
found a whistling thorn tree not far from their camp, cut off a couple of long
ugly thorns, and pushed them into the rear tires of both jeeps.
After eight miles or so, the jeeps
started to lose control. When they finally stopped, the German quickly
realised that both sets of rear tires had punctures. Jim and Alex smiled as the
German really lost his temper.
“Where are the spare wheels, you
idiots?”
The men exchanged looks and shook
their heads in confusion. Thinking that they had forgotten to properly
check their vehicles, he started to beat them with his cane.
“Right! Take the front wheels
off your jeep and replace my two back wheels, then leave me all the water!”
The remaining men now realised that
for them to survive, they must walk back to the village of Ngulloo
without protection or water.
Jim and Alex, who lay observing the
fiasco, smiled at each other. Their plan was working.
After several hours of cursing and
grunting, the wheels were changed. The German, who had continually beaten
the men whilst they changed the wheels pushed them aside. Inspected their handy work, then grabbed his driver and pushed him into the driving seat, and
pointed north. Within minutes, all that was left was a cloud of
dust in the distance.
They tracked the Jeep until it came
to a wide-open plane and watched the Jeep skid to a halt. The German was
still ranting and raving and Jim could see he was asking the driver which way
to go. The driver just shrugged his shoulder, which got him another beating.
“We have to get rid of the driver?”
Alex smiled, “I know just the
trick,” and started to look around for a long thin branch, then bound together
two thorns from the whistling Thorn Tree, spacing them exactly two inches
apart.
When he finished, Jim laughed. “Ah,
the old snake bite trick, well-done Alex.”
As darkness fell, the German, still
fuming, retired to his tent after ordering the driver to stand guard in the
Jeep. Around midnight, the driver decided to relieve himself and wandered
off into the bush. Alex had positioned himself in a piece of ground where the
moon shone the brightest and waited. Just as the driver bent down, Alex pushed
the long thin branch with the two thorns into the driver’s leg.
The driver leapt up, dragged up his
trouser leg, saw the tell-tell signs of a snake bite, and screamed. His
first thought was of survival and rushed back to the jeep, started it up, spun
it around, and sped off into the night back towards the village of Ngulloo.
The German came scampering out of
his tent, only to see the tail lights of his Jeep fading in the dark.
Realising he could do nothing about the situation, went back into his tent
yelling obscenities at the moon.
During the night Alex and Jim rigged
the trap in the open space in front of the German’s tent, then retired into
the bush to wait.
At dawn, the German came strutting
out of his tent straight into the trap. The wire gripped his ankle hoisting him
two feet off the ground.
Jim and Alex let him blow off steam
before they approached him.
“Well, what do we have here?” Alex
said.
“Get me down from here you
idiots. Can’t you see I’m trapped!”
Jim approached the German. “You are
being punished for killing an elephant last year inside the park. We will
leave some freshly killed buck beneath you. That should bring the hungry
ones to you. Once they have eaten the food, they will turn on you.”
The German screamed at him. “You
can’t do this. I was told that I was outside the park.”
“It was only an elephant. You can’t
kill me just for an elephant. Cut me down, now!”
Jim spoke quietly to the German. It
wasn’t just an elephant, Baba Mushouno was special to me.
“What do you mean, and what name did
you call it?”
“Baba Mushouno.”
“What does that mean?”
Jim was silent for a minute, then
spoke clearly. “In English, it means Uncle Albert.”
A week later whilst Jim was enjoying
Alex’s hospitality, they received word from the Ranger Station that a team of
poachers and their foreign hunter had been killed in the park.
The Ranger’s took no action.
Copyright Bob French